Even If You Can't Hear Me
by Korpikaazi
Summary: Skwisgaar visits Toki in hospital after the events of Doomstar, and he needs to get some things off of his chest. One-shot internal monologue.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. If I did, season 5 would be a thing.

 **Notes:** My first foray into the Metalocalypse fandom. Slash if you want it, not if you don't. I've written this at about 3am to try and project the garbled thoughts of a tired mind. Hopefully it actually makes sense! Enjoy, reviews and criticism always welcome.

I'm not very good at this sort of thing.

It's not really my style.

Nathan's been flitting between here and Abigail's room all day. Pickles has been with you almost all day, leaving only to get coffee and probably something stronger when the nurses weren't looking. Hell, even Murderface turned up for a while earlier, bringing some sort of shitty half-dead daisies for you and Abigail.

I'm the only one who hadn't been to see you yet. I waited so long that the woman at reception tried to turn me away – 'visiting hours are over, Sir…' That lasted about as long as Murderface's stop-off in your room. It wasn't long before I was heading to your room with a number scrawled on a slip of paper in my pocket and an empty promise to the blushing woman behind the desk to give her a call.

Opening the door to this room was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. As if I didn't already feel like shit, walking in here almost had me puking as much as you the first time you went to a bar with Pickles. You won't know it, but your room smells horrendous. A mixture of bleach, blood and sickly sweet perfume from the hundreds of flowers piled up in one corner of the room – it's enough to make my head spin. But what really made my stomach heave was you. In the harsh fluorescent lighting, you look like you're wearing our stage corpse paint. Needles sit in your emaciated arms, veins swollen around the entry points. Even your hair looks listless, limp against the pillows beneath your head.

It took every last gram of courage I have left not to run straight back out the door again. But I've done enough running away. That's what left me – you – in this situation in the first place.

I won't run again.

I promise.

The steady beep of the machine attached to you is actually slightly comforting. From the doorway, you certainly don't look very alive. The thought makes my heart twist horribly, but I've promised I won't run. So instead, I need to see for myself that you've survived this. Your breath warms the back of my hand; your heart beats in your chest beneath my shaking palm.

Some of the nausea that has been building recedes slightly as I feel your life beneath my hands. You have survived this. You're getting the best medical care money can buy. We will pull through this together.

I'm not very good at this.

But if Nathan could do it at the funeral in front of all those people, then I have no excuse. So here goes.

Toki.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

I'm sorry we – I – waited so long to find you.

I'm sorry our lack of attention sent you running for Magnus.

I'm sorry for all the insults, the belittling, the hurtful things I've said and done.

I'm sorry for every time I've made you feel worthless. I'm sorry I've never told you how much you mean to us. To me.

It's not fair. You didn't deserve this. Sure, you drive me insane at times, but these months without you have been hell. You're such a huge part of my life – not that I've ever let you know that.

I don't really do emotional stuff. It's much easier to hide behind Nathan's rules of not caring. It's not metal to do emotions. It never stopped you, though. I always admired your ability to be so open about how you feel, although you'll have only ever seen me scoff at you for it. I wish we'd listened to you more – you were so eager for friendship that you clung onto the first man to show you any kindness. Perhaps if we had been there for you more, you would have been sitting with us at the funeral.

Then maybe you wouldn't be here, in this awful room. Maybe you wouldn't have been stabbed, starved, tortured…

Maybe I wouldn't be sitting here, holding your cold hand and pretending that the pollen from the flowers is the reason for my streaming eyes.

Regretting is pointless. I know that. It doesn't stem the guilt pumping through me. I can't shake the sight of you nailed to that inverted cross. The blood that covered your skin.

I need you to come back to us. I need you to forgive me. I need you to shout and scream and punch and cry… I deserve that.

I need to know that we weren't too late.

I need you to know how sorry I am.

I didn't realise just how long I've been here. There's a doctor moaning at me for something, but it's in English and my brain's too tired to work it out. I ignore him and turn back to you. Although the sight of your battered face turns my stomach, I can't look away. Once more, I press my heart to your chest, just to assure myself that your heart still beats beneath your cracked ribs. The strong thudding fills me with warmth.

I can barely feel it as the doctor pulls me up out of my seat and pushes me towards the door. The sunrise beginning to filter through the window of your room lights your face, bringing slightly more colour to it. You'll wake up soon.

And maybe then I'll have enough courage to tell you this when you can actually hear me.

Forgive me, Toki.

I'm sorry.


End file.
